Minnesota State Fair — Questions of Space

I would never volunteer to join a mission to Mars. (I already saw the movie.) But that’s one of the questions they ask you when you visit the fascinating Journey to Space exhibit at this year’s state fair. To judge from the poker chips piling up in the plexiglass voting tubes, more people are claiming they would go than wouldn’t. I doubt it.

We went to the fair on opening day, to beat the crowds, and we approached in our usual way, from the west, down Larpenteur. The line was longer than usual; it took us an hour to get in, probably because they’ve put a new policy in place by which those who park on the streets in Falcon Heights are being charged $25. I suspect that many who used to park there are choosing to park in the lot, which is closer to the fairgrounds and now costs the same amount.

Once inside, our usual route is to begin at the eco-building, followed by the art building. Then hotdogs and maybe a Kiwanis chocolate malt. Then education, crafts, and out into the passing stream of hot bodies, on our way to agriculture, fish, milk, and four-legged creatures.

The Journey to Space exhibit threw a wrinkle into the itinerary. It's housed in a building just inside the north gate. As we were passing Hilary said, “Why don’t we stop in? The line's not that long.” I’m glad we did.

Inside the building we stood in another line for ten minutes--not bad. Then we were ushered up some stairs and into a re-creation of one wing of the international space station. We stood with eight or ten other people on a stationary gangplank while the walls of the eight-sided room slowly rotated around us and various science experiments and TV screens moved slowly past. Scenes from 2001: A Space Odessey flashed through my mind once or twice. I found myself gripping the hand rail, as if I might otherwise fall over. It was all slightly destabilizing, but it was also cool. It made me a little queasy, but it was something new, and the talking heads of genuine astronauts on the screen were interesting to listen to. The lights went dim several times, I’m not sure why.

Back on the exhibit floor, we wandered from one hands-on exhibit to the next. One of them recreated the effect of trying to use your hands to manipulate two toy blocks under conditions of weightlessness. There were also immense screens on which videos of solar flares were being projected, and others showing the northern lights as seen from various locations above earth.

Hilary was especially taken by the one explaining that if we lived on Saturn, we’d only be six years old. (We could have gotten into the fair for free!)

Back in the lobby, we took a look at some of the spacesuits worn by genuine astronauts while in space. But the highlight of that part of the exhibit was the discussion we had with a NASA volunteer who was standing by a small, pyramidal piece of moon rock embedded in plexiglass.

He knew all about various probes that were exploring the planets, their moons, and the asteroid belt. He seemed genuinely interested when I told him about 31/ Atlas, the new object that arrived from deep space just three weeks ago. We were soon discussing how speculative much of cosmology remains, and how important it is to make assertions that will secure grant money, regardless of the actual strength of the claims being made.

All in all, it was an unusual and stimulating start to the day. By that time we’d worked up an appetite, and Giggles Campfire Grill was right down the street. The walleye cakes were as good as I remembered them, and the smoked salmon on a stick wasn’t bad either. When we got our food, I took one look at the glass of pink lemonade and said, “But we ordered a large.”

“That is a large,” the woman said with a winning smile. “Have a nice day.”

_________

The science on view in the eco-building seemed modest indeed to someone who'd just been blasting through outer space. The art building offered an engaging mix of styles and themes, as usual. We chatted at some length with a highly enthusiastic couple at the Friends of the BWCAW booth, and registered to win a new tent.

"I hope we win that," I said. "We're still using a Marmot backpacking tent. The ceiling is only four feet high, and my back gets so stiff I have trouble crawling out in the morning."

"I just bring a folding cot," the woman said. "And a folding chair." As we were leaving she gave us each a dark green plastic spork.  

The knitted sweaters and quilts in the handicraft building were impressive, but a little hard to admire with the temperature outside pushing eighty. We stepped out into the glare and surveyed the colorful scene. Strange aromas were drifting our way from O'Gara's Irish Pub, where the sounds of a man playing the bagpipes rose above the din. We opted instead to find some shady seats at the bandstand nearby and caught the last number of Davina and the Vagabonds' set. That was enough for me. 

The thing that impressed me most in the agriculture building was the very long line of people waiting patiently to view the crop art. (Are we getting tired yet?) You never know quite where you are when you emerge from that eight-sided building, but we somehow made our way downhill to the DNR building to see the fish. 

Inside the cool and cavernous log cabin nearby we discussed buckthorn eradication methods with one of the volunteers. Clearly, it was time to go home.

During the long walk back to the car we passed the parade, which was heading in the opposite direction: Farmington, then Rosemount, then Worthington. Some of the kids weren't even playing instruments. Were they having a good time? Why did they sign up? Well, at best, high school is a bundle of confusion, anxiety, and mixed emotions. Under the weight of those conditions, listening to a bunch of trombones and trumpets blasting in your ears to a regular rhythm is probably good for your health.